XVI
Few men shall love thee, whom fierce powers have lifted High beyond meed of praise. But as some bark whose seeking sail has drifted Through storm of days, We hail thee, bearing back thy golden flowers Gathered beyond the Western Isles, in bowers That had not seen, till thine, a vessel's wake. And looking on thee from our land-built towers Know that such sea-dawn never can be ours As thou sawest break.
XVII
Now sailest thou dim-lighted, lonelier water. By shores of bitter seas Low is thy speech with Ceres' ghostly daughter, Whose twined lilies Are not more pale than thou, O bard most sweet, Most bitter;—for whose brow sedge-crowns were mete And crowns of splendid holly green and red; Who passest from the dust of careless feet To lands where sunrise thou hast sought shall greet Thy holy head.
XVIII
Thou hast followed after him whose hopes were greatest,— That meteor-soul divine; Near whom divine we hail thee: thou the latest Of that bright line Of flame-lipped masters of the spell of song, Enduring in succession proud and long, The banner-bearers in triumphant wars: Latest; and first of that bright line to be, For whom thou also, flame-lipped, spirit-free, Art of the stars.
TO A CHILD—TWENTY YEARS HENCE
You shall remember dimly, Through mists of far-away, Her whom, our lips set grimly, We carried forth today.
But when, in days hereafter, Unfolding time shall bring Knowledge of love and laughter And trust and triumphing,—
Then from some face the fairest, From some most joyous breast, Garner what there is rarest And happiest and best,—